


Breathe In, Breathe Out

by LacePendragon



Series: Reposted RWBY Fics [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Desk Sex, Faunus Oobleck, M/M, One-sided Portbleck, Pre-Canon, STRQ era, Smut, old headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 09:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacePendragon/pseuds/LacePendragon
Summary: Once again, Qrow has been sexiled. Somehow, it ends up a win for everyone. Especially after he runs into fellow student, Bartholomew Oobleck, on the roof.





	Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is an interesting one to repost for a few reasons. First, this was pre-V4 era, so I didn't know Port was older than Oobs, which is why they're on the same team. Second, this is before two headcanons of mine were established: Glynda is from Atlas, and Bart is trans. So this is one of two smut fics I have where Oobleck is cis. Which is so strange to me, looking back, but I do love the fics.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Written April 2016. Reposted October 2019.

Qrow had only been back at his dorm for ten minutes when Summer, Raven, and Taiyang had appeared, hands all over each other and mouths trading kisses that Qrow considered obscene. Before he could protest, Raven was pulling away, grabbing him by the shirt, and shoving him out into the hallway with just his scroll, his clothes, and his sock feet.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Come back in the morning,” said Raven, voice low in a way that Qrow never _ever_ needed to hear again. She slammed the door shut in his face and Qrow was left standing alone in the hallway at eleven o’clock at night with no shoes, nowhere to sleep, and a disturbed expression that would have startled even the scariest of Grimm.

“Why me?” muttered Qrow, rubbing a hand over his face. There was a moan from the other side of the door that was too low to be either of the girl’s. Qrow made a face, somewhere between weirded out and just plain confused, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He headed down the hallway and toward the elevator. Maybe some fresh air would get his sister’s face – dilated pupils, red lips, flushed cheeks, _ugh_ – out of his head.

The trip up to the roof was uneventful and Qrow patted his pockets. A sigh slid out of him when he realized he’d left his cigarettes in the dorm room. _Damn it._ Summer always gave him hell for smoking, but it wasn’t like hunters around the world didn’t have their vices. His was smoking. Hers was sex. Like one was so much worse for you than the other.

Especially with _his_ aura.

Qrow padded out onto the roof, grateful for the unseasonal warmth against his half-bare sleeves and the lack of recent rain, which ensured the roof was dry beneath his socked feet. He probably should have just ditched the socks – they were going to be ruined if he didn’t – but it wasn’t quite that warm.

He leaned against the railing of the roof, breathing in the slightly salty taste that drifted in from the docks of Vale. The breeze danced across his ruffled hair and blew into his half buttoned button-up shirt.

“You’re up late,” came a voice from behind Qrow. He turned to see Bart Oobleck, a fellow fourth year, wandering up to him. His green hair was just as tousled as Qrow’s, and his round glasses half-obscured his mismatched eyes.

“Could say the same to you,” said Qrow.

Bart took a place on the railing next to Qrow, staring up at the stars with a soft smile. He tilted his head toward Qrow. “I practically live on coffee, thus, I don’t have much of a need for sleep.”

“The hummingbird thing probably helps,” said Qrow, absently.

Bart hummed, one hand raising slightly in an aborted motion to stroke his feather scars. Qrow wondered if the joke had been in bad taste. Sure, his team and Bart’s team knew about the man’s Faunus nature, and that he’d had his traits taken from him, but he had a hard time remembering how sensitive Bart was to the jokes.

“Indeed,” murmured Bart. Then, in his regular tone of voice, “So, what’s your excuse?”

Qrow chuckled, though it was more self-deprecating than anything else. “Sexiled by my own sister.”

Bart gave a low whistle. “_Damn._”

“You’re telling me,” said Qrow. He snorted. Stared out at the stars a little harder as he tried to pull all the images and sounds he’d heard earlier – and the time before that, and the time before _that_ – from his mind.

“So, tell me, Qrow,” said Bart, turning to halfway face him. “How many of these lovely constellations do you actually know?”

Qrow glanced at Bart out of the corner of his eye and smirked. “Not nearly enough. Come on, tell me some.”

Bart pointed out a few constellations. The Seven Huntresses, the Big and Little Ursa, the Nevermore Cluster, and a handful of smaller stars that Qrow wouldn’t have even known the names of if Bart hadn’t been out there tonight.

Bart went on and on about constellations for some time, dissolving into their history at some point. Qrow didn’t mind. He had found, over the last four years, that listening to Bart talk was one of his favourite things about some of the more boring classes. The man had a penchant for making anything sound interesting. Even rocks.

And yes, he had once made rocks sound interesting. Qrow’s mind still boggled at that one. He didn’t even _like_ rocks.

“So you see, the erasure of this constellation and turning it into three separate constellations is actually hugely detrimental to Faunus history and… are you even listening to me?” asked Bart, voice tinged more with amusement than annoyance.

Qrow blinked, tuning back in. He’d been busy watching Bart’s hands, a completely inappropriate thought building up in the back of his mind. But no, hormones or no hormones, he probably shouldn’t go there.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Qrow.

“Of course,” said Bart.

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” asked Qrow.

Bart blinked. “As far as I know, yes.”

“So why don’t I ever see you with anyone?” asked Qrow. He turned, still leaning one arm on the railing. “You’re always just with your team, or your partner, Peter.” A pause. “Are you two…?”

“No,” said Bart, a touch too sharply. “Peter and I are just friends.” There was a bitterness there that Qrow didn’t want to let go of.

He shifted to face Bart fully. Raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. “Oh? Sounds like you’d rather be more than friends,” he said.

Bart didn’t say anything. He clenched his jaw and went back to staring out at the stars.

Qrow sighed and stepped forward, resting a hand on Bart’s shoulder. He was a lot more kempt than usual tonight – shirt buttoned and tucked in, vest open but on. Even his shoes matched. That was _really_ strange, for him.

“Hey,” said Qrow. “Sorry. I know something about unrequited feelings, trust me.”

Bart nodded.

“But any guy would be lucky to have you, Oob. You’re smarter than hell; you have a great sense of humour; and have you looked in a mirror lately?” Qrow laughed and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Bart smiled at him, his one blue eye catching the light of the moon. The brown one didn’t carry the reflection the same way. It was a sharp contrast. Like day and night. Sun and moon.

Qrow and Bart, even.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Bart. “That’s quite kind of you.”

Qrow nodded and the two stared at the stars for a few minutes in silence. Then, Qrow said, “Hey uh, you never did answer my question.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Even if you’ve got romance locked down, why not sex? Sex is great. No reason not to have it.”

Bart raised an eyebrow. “Who says I don’t?”

_Oh._

Qrow cleared his throat. “Really?” His voice _so_ didn’t crack there. Nope. Not in the least. He cleared his throat again. “I’ve never noticed.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Bart, almost absently. He smirked at Qrow and, _oh,_ that expression just did not belong on Bart. It looked far too… _predatory._ “I keep my trysts relatively private. I don’t think even my teammates realize I’m not a virgin.”

Qrow snorted. “Now there’s a thought.”

“Indeed,” agreed Bart. He raised an eyebrow at Qrow, his glasses sliding down his nose. “What about you, Qrow?”

“What about me?” asked Qrow.

“Do you have a preference in partners?” asked Bart. He licked his lower lip, a slow drag of his tongue that drew Qrow’s gaze and made him swallow. It was probably just coincidence. Nothing to think about.

He shrugged, carefully casual. “Not really. Always been pretty flexible that way.”

“Oh?” There it was, that shift in Bart’s tone. A pitch that was far too innocent while also being the furthest thing from. He _had_ to be reading into this. …Right?

“Yeah,” said Qrow. He shrugged again, biting his lip. “Not like I’m horribly private, but I guess sex is pretty discrete to begin with.”

“Indeed.”

Now Qrow knew he wasn’t imagining that pitch or those eyes, because the slow, coy curve of Bart’s mouth couldn’t be an accident. The man was far too calculated for that.

“Tell me, Qrow,” said Bart. He stepped forward, hanging just outside of Qrow’s space. “Did you have any plans for tonight?”

Qrow didn’t quite bite back the quiet groan that slipped from between his teeth. “Tell me you’re going to fucking kiss me,” said Qrow, voice a bit breathless. “Because I might die if you don’t.”

A soft laugh, closer to a chuckle, pushed into the space between them as Bart closed it. He was taller than Qrow – significantly so – and he leaned against the railing, head tilted down, to get close to him.

His breath ghosted Qrow’s lips, warm and slightly minty, before he closed that final distance.

And Qrow groaned, pushing back into Bart’s kiss and going up on his toes to make the angle work better, as awkward as it was.

When they pulled back, lips both spit coated and parted as they panted, Qrow cleared his throat.

“Forgive me if I sound forward…,” he started.

Bart wrapped his arms around Qrow’s waist and yanked them chest to chest. “I presume _this_ is what you want?” he asked, dipping his head to kiss Qrow again.

Qrow groaned into it and laughed as they pulled back. “Actually, I was hoping we could find the nearest horizontal surface that _isn’t_ this roof, so you can fuck me into it. But kissing works too.”

He didn’t miss the way Bart’s pupils dilated at that. Nor the way he groaned softly – there was that mint taste again – at the words.

“I can do that,” said Bart. He ran his hands down Qrow’s back, cupping his ass through his old jeans. “I can _certainly_ do that.” He drew Qrow even closer, their groins not quite lined up enough to roll together, but just enough that Qrow could thrust a bit into Bart’s thigh. “Hang on,” said Bart.

Qrow nodded, winding his arms tightly around Bart’s neck. He pressed his face into Bart’s chest and closed his eyes, knowing what was coming next. There was a sudden sucking sensation. His ears popped. His world spun. His stomach lurched.

And then they were standing in one of the classrooms. The raised tiers of seats stared down at them, judgingly, as Bart set Qrow down on the desk. It was the history classroom, Qrow recognized, one of the few with a clean desk.

Their history teacher preferred digital study tools. Ironic, really.

With Qrow sitting on the desk, the height difference was more pronounced, but Bart didn’t seem to care. He leaned over Qrow and kissed him deeply, pressing him back into the desk. When he pulled back, Qrow watched with half-lidded eyes as Bart slid down his glasses, winked, and disappeared with a soft “pop”.

Qrow stared, propped up on his elbows, and pouted. “What am I supposed to do now?” he asked the empty room. The seats stared back at him, almost as responsive as the students in them usually were.

In fact, thought Qrow, they might have been more attentive.

It took a minute – a long, uncomfortable minute that Qrow spent debating shoving a hand down his pants to relieve part of the agonizing hardness that pressed against his zipper, even through his briefs – but Bart returned. He appeared just as he had disappeared, with a soft pop and a wink. This time, he had a small shower bag, which Qrow raised an eyebrow at.

“You keep your sex stuff in a bag?” asked Qrow.

Bart rolled his eyes, the twinkle of their light catching in his glasses. “No, I keep wet wipes and a hand towel in there. The rest I had to pull out of my dresser. Without waking up my teammates, I might add,” said Bart.

“Bravo,” said Qrow, drily. “Now take off your pants.”

Bart snorted. “And they say romance is dead.”

“Thought this wasn’t romantic,” Qrow shot back.

Bart sighed and rolled his eyes. The gesture was fond, despite his exasperation, and Qrow caught himself grinning.

“Well?” asked Qrow.

Bart’s only response was to set down the bag next to Qrow and take off his vest. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it on the floor as well, stepping in close to Qrow, who had his legs draped over the desk and spread wide. He dragged Qrow close to him by the front of his shirt and nipped at Qrow’s lower lip with his teeth.

Qrow’s eyes combed the small splattering of tattoos that marked the bottom of his ribcage. He reached out, hesitant, and when Bart nodded, he ran his fingers along the words. Most were in an old tongue from Menagerie, the language the Faunus had created to escape their own slavery and captivity. A way to share stories and history without their so-called masters knowing.

It was a language only Faunus knew and one they guarded as closely as a mother might guard a child. With barred teeth and fearful eyes, cradled close to the heart in fear of it taken away.

“Can I ask?” asked Qrow.

“Hope,” said Bart. “Peace, and my mother’s name. Not in that order.”

Qrow nodded, his eyes tracing the intricate words. There were faint scars around them, and Qrow knew the tattoos were older, from before Bart had the resources to get them properly. It was a wonder they’d never been infected. They couldn’t be, now, not with how they’d healed over the years. But before. When they were new.

“You could almost be one of us,” murmured Bart.

“Because of my name?” asked Qrow.

Bart hummed. “That too,” he agreed, tugging at the hem of Qrow’s shirt. Qrow lifted his arms and let Bart pull it off him. “But mostly it’s the way you move. The way you speak. There’s something about it that I can’t place.”

_Buddy_, thought Qrow, _you don’t know the half of it._

“Just little ole’ me, unfortunately,” said Qrow.

Bart chuckled. “Nothing unfortunate about it,” he said. Qrow groaned as Bart leaned forward and sucked at his collarbone, his sharp canines nipping at Qrow’s skin until he knew it left marks. He didn’t care. Let his damn teammates wonder. It wasn’t like they didn’t make him wonder. About his place on the team. About his role in their lives. About _everything._

And wow that was surprisingly bitter.

Qrow dragged his mind back to the present to see that Bart had pulled off him and was looking at him curiously, head cocked to one side and lips pursed.

“Are you all right?” asked Bart. He reached out and stroked Qrow’s cheek and Qrow leaned into it. Let Bart draw him close into something close to a hug. And he hummed, burying his face in the junction of Bart’s neck and collarbone. Breathed in the smell of him – paper and ink and the slight gunpowder smell that always lingered after he teleported.

“Fine,” said Qrow. He pressed his hands to Bart’s shoulders and tugged him closer. It was a nice hug. Warm and comforting without being overwhelming or judgemental.

“We can stop,” said Bart into his hair. Qrow pulled back to look at Bart, his hands sliding onto his chest.

“No,” said Qrow. “I’m fine, really. I just needed a minute.”

Bart nodded. “Okay,” he said. He kissed Qrow again. “Shall we?”

It was Qrow’s turn to nod and he grabbed for Bart’s pants. Undid the button and belt and yanked them down to reveal polka dotted boxers.

He raised an eyebrow and Bart flushed, the red along his neck and jaw before travelling to his ears.

“Well, I wasn’t _expecting_ this tonight,” said Bart. “Just a happy coincidence. Besides, if things go well, I won’t be wearing them for long.”

Qrow laughed, soft and echoing in the classroom, and tugged at Bart’s pants again. Bart wriggled them down and stepped out of them, kicking them away. He reached for Qrow’s pants, who raised his hips in response, and shoved off the worn grey jeans. They were his favourite, and Qrow really didn’t want to lose them to tonight.

“Briefs?” asked Bart, raising an eyebrow at Qrow.

Qrow snorted. “At least mine aren’t covered in _polka dots_.”

Bart hummed and cupped Qrow through his briefs, drawing a loud and obscene moan from the man. He jerked upward into the warmth, whining as Bart retracted his hand.

“Come _on_,” said Qrow. He wriggled forward a bit, only for Bart to catch his hip in his hands and hold him still.

“Patience,” said Bart, voice light.

Qrow cocked an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you the guy who moves at the speed of sound?” he asked.

Bart’s lips twitched. “Yes, I am. But even I know when to slow down and… _enjoy_ something,” said Bart. He punctuated his last words by stroking Qrow again and Qrow groaned, head falling back and mouth falling open to pant, wetly. Bart kept stroking, his fingers rolling across the bulge at the front of Qrow’s briefs until Qrow could do nothing but buck helplessly into Bart’s hand and whine his need into open air.

“Come _on_,” said Qrow again. “Bart, _please._”

Bart sighed, drawn out and put upon, and tugged at the waistband of Qrow’s briefs. With deft fingers, he tugged them down and off Qrow in one smooth motion, tossing them onto the growing pile of clothes next to them.

Qrow rolled his hips upward into Bart’s hand, trying to gain purchase. His fingers scrambled backward on the desk before gripping the edge. Arched into the touched and panted wetly as the heat clawed its way up his spine and into his head. Swarming around him until he could barely think straight.

“When was the last time anyone touched you?” asked Bart, a low amusement in his voice. Qrow whined as his hands disappeared. He tipped his head forward to see Bart shove down his own boxers.

“I don’t fucking know,” said Qrow. He caught himself licking his lips at the tuft of green hair that clung to the base of Bart’s cock. “Too long. _Way_ too long.”

Bart laughed, soft. He reached into the bag and pulled out a jar of lube. “I suppose patience is out of the question?”

“I’ll aim for your shoes,” said Qrow, voice low with warning.

Bart hummed, shaking his head as he untwisted the lid from the jar. “Can’t have that now, can we? I finally have a matching pair.” He slipped his fingers into the jar and they came back glistening. His gaze went back to Qrow. “How much prep do you need?” he asked.

“Depends,” said Qrow.

“On?” asked Bart, raising a green eyebrow.

“How do you feel about me feeling it tomorrow?” Qrow wriggled his hips closer to Bart. “Because I really, _really_ don’t mind.”

Another shake of Bart’s head. “Well, let’s not be too hasty, shall we? We have time.” With that, his fingers slipped down between Qrow’s legs. He felt the cool press of those long, nimble fingers against his cheek, then they were darting inward and dancing around his hole. Feather light touches that had Qrow throwing back his head and keening, hips jumping toward Bart’s.

_God,_ had it been too long.

Bart pushed back one of Qrow’s legs and laid a soft kiss to the inside of his knee. He bent it forward, almost to his chest, and then slipped his finger inside Qrow.

Qrow whined, loudly, hips jerking, head rolling, entire body pulsing as Bart worked him open quickly and expertly. It really had been too long. He hadn’t even done this part to _himself_ all semester, maybe longer, and he hadn’t had sex since last year.

The twitch of Bart’s long fingers, the curve of his smile against Qrow’s knee, the soft ha-ha-ha of Qrow’s breathing – it all consumed him. A fire that burned low in his belly and pulled at his balls, dancing up to follow every touch that Bart pressed into his skin. Knee, leg, stomach, shoulder. Tiny touches that only lingered long enough to just barely be felt, then disappearing again to touch somewhere else.

Almost like a tickle, but far more satisfying.

He groaned as those fingers slipped from him, leaving him twitching backward in hopes of finding them again. His eyes fluttered – though he wasn’t sure when he’d closed them – and he looked up at Bart with his half-lidded gaze. Saw Bart smile down at him, tender. Qrow swallowed hard. It was a new look. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Ready?” asked Bart as he released Qrow to roll on a condom and slick himself up. Qrow snorted.

“Is that condom fucking green?” asked Qrow.

Bart raised an eyebrow, his glasses having slid down his nose. He reached up and discarded them, setting them down gently on the pile of clothes next to the desk. “I wasn’t aware that sex had a distinctive colour.”

“I’d argue it’s white,” said Qrow. “If anything.”

Bart made a face that had Qrow snickering. “Now _that_ was lewd.”

“Said the man about to shove his dick up my ass,” Qrow shot back. He wiggled his hips and spread his legs a little farther. “Come _on._”

“You know, patience _is_ a virtue,” said Bart, but he was already lining himself up and pressing Qrow’s knee back into his chest.

“Yeah?” asked Qrow. His voice was breathy and hoarse. He grunted as Bart’s cock just barely pressed against his hole. “Good thing I’m not virtuous.”

“Indeed,” said Bart, drily. Then, he pushed into Qrow and the only sound between them was Qrow’s keening. Bart seemed content to let Qrow adjust, so Qrow jerked his hips upward. Forced them close to Bart’s and whined again as his cock brushed something deep inside Qrow.

“Move,” he whined. “_Move_.”

For once, Bart actually listened to him. He rolled his hips into Qrow’s, picking up speed as he went until he was fucking into Qrow at a pace that had Qrow shouting and scrambling to grip the desk. He bucked his hips upward, sharp thrusts that had Bart brushing just passed that wonderful spot inside him.

Qrow saw stars. He cried out again, a sharp “fuck _yes_” as every other thrust sent him world spinning and spinning until he could no longer tell which way was up.

Bart was quieter, his groans and moans mingling in the air until Qrow wanted to hear nothing else for the rest of his life. Those sounds mixed with the obscene sound of flesh on flesh and flesh on desk.

Qrow gripped the wood, mouth open as the noises kept pouring out of him. Fire built low in his belly, pulling his balls taunt and leaving his cock aching and leaking across his stomach as Bart thrust into him with reckless abandon.

Higher and higher he spun in the room with Bart. Gripped the desk as everything spun out of control. Tried to reach out to grab himself only to grab onto Bart’s shoulder instead. He needed to _touch_. He couldn’t come like this, as much as he wanted to.

“Bart,” he managed, eyes wet with tears. He blinked them back. Thrust his hips upward into Bart’s. Let their paces roll together until their bodies moved in perfect harmony. “Touch me.”

Bart took one hand off Qrow and wrapped it around his cock. Qrow screamed. The sound echoed around them.

He stared at Bart as Bart jerked him in time with his thrusts. Eyes closed and green hair hanging in his face. He kept gasping. Kept stroking. Kept thrusting.

And Qrow’s orgasm blindsided him mid-thrust, sent him shouting over the edge and planting his leg against the side of the desk. Arching into Bart as he came in streaks across his chest, tears clinging to his eyelashes.

Bart’s thrusts stuttered and so did his hand. He pulled off Qrow’s cock to grip his hips and thrust one last time into Qrow. His orgasm followed with a soft noise that _definitely_ wasn’t Qrow’s name.

As Bart’s hips finally slowed and stopped, Qrow allowed his leg to unbend and draped it over the edge of the desk. Slowly drew himself off Bart’s cock. He reached out, hesitant, and drew back his hand before it could touch Bart’s hair. Bart kept his hands planted on the desk, eyes closed tight as his entire body shuddered.

“Don’t think I’m round enough to be him,” murmured Qrow, sitting up.

Bart grimaced. “Don’t,” he said sharply. He raised one hand and combed it through his soaking hair. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” said Qrow. He shrugged, drawing one leg up to rest his arm across it. “Long as you’re not screaming my sister’s name, I couldn’t care less.” He tipped his head, eyes soft. “It’s just sex, Oob.”

Bart sighed and stepped away from Qrow, setting to work on cleaning himself up. Qrow took the hint and grabbed a wet wipe from the bag, wiping himself down and balling it up before tossing it into the garbage of the classroom.

He slid off the desk, wincing slightly, and gathered up his clothes. Slipped back into them with his back to Bart.

By the time he’d finished, Bart was dressed too and leaning against the desk. He cracked a weak smile at Qrow, who was still running on jelly legs, and held out one hand.

“I know a couple empty dorm rooms,” he offered. “I can take you to one, if you like.” It was an apology without the words, one that Qrow still didn’t think was necessary. But if it made Bart feel better, he’d take the offer – he needed a place to sleep, anyway – and let the man think there was something to be forgiven, and had been forgiven.

“Thanks,” said Qrow. He took Bart’s hand and let the man pull him close again. It was less intimate, this time. Almost like a hug from an old, distant friend, or a cousin you didn’t see very often.

There was that familiar tug in Qrow’s belly as Bart’s semblance kicked in. Then he, Bart, and the shower bag vanished from the classroom, leaving the echoes of their words – both accidental and purposeful – behind to dance in the empty seats.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated!


End file.
